On the fifteenth floor of a luxury apartment complex in Manhattan, Ethan Cole stirred awake, rolling over against silk sheets that cost more than most people's annual rent.
He stretched, arms wide like a cat, savoring the stillness before the world came calling. For a billionaire tech mogul, mornings were his rare luxury. A quiet moment to breathe, to remember he was human before the meetings, the handshakes, the endless demands of being one of the most powerful men in America.
But this morning wasn't quiet. The scent of scrambled eggs drifted into the room, followed by the clicking of heels against marble. Ethan cracked one eye open and smiled. Sally.
Sally Jones, the woman the tabloids loved to describe as "America's Beauty Queen". She was younger than him by almost a decade, but her ambition burned hotter than fire. Ethan sometimes joked that she was the only person he knew who could sell ice to an Eskimo—and make him thank her for it. Today, she was already dressed in a sleek navy-blue skirt suit, her glossy hair cascading down her shoulders like the perfect billboard for her empire, "Silky Hair".
"Morning, sleepyhead." Her smile was the kind that could disarm boardrooms, all charm and polish. She placed a tray on the bed: scrambled eggs, toast, and orange juice.
Ethan groaned playfully and sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Morning, beautiful."
She kissed his cheek lightly. "Eat up. I've got a meeting at Silky Hair in an hour."
He forked up a bite of eggs, savoring the taste but watching her more than the food. Sally was radiant—always radiant. She carried herself with the confidence of someone who owned her future, and maybe, a little of his.
"You work too hard, babe," Ethan mumbled between bites.
Sally laughed, adjusting her pearl earring. "It's my dream job, remember? Besides, I've got a big presentation today. New product line."
That caught his attention. "New product line? Can I see it when it's done? Maybe I could be your first male model."
Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she leaned on the bedpost. "Ethan Cole, billionaire tech genius and… hair influencer? Please. You'd look ridiculous in a wig."
"Not ridiculous," he countered with a grin. "Groundbreaking. The face of Silky Hair. I'd go viral in a second."
Their laughter filled the room, bouncing off the marble walls. But as Sally slipped on her heels and reached for her handbag, the laughter faded.
"I'll see you tonight," she said, leaning down for one last kiss. "Love you."
"Love you too," he replied softly, though there was something distracted in his tone. His mind was already mapping out the day ahead.
She left with the scent of expensive perfume trailing behind her. The door clicked shut, and silence returned. Ethan leaned back, chewing thoughtfully on his bread. For all Sally's ambition, for all her glitter and gloss, there was a part of him that felt… untouched. Empty.
He pushed the thought away. Today wasn't for brooding. He had errands, important ones. Supplies for the volunteer project his foundation was sponsoring in Brooklyn. Ethan believed in giving back; it was one of the few things that kept him grounded amidst the chaos of billion-dollar deals.
"Grocery run, here I come," he muttered, standing and stretching once more.
---
By mid-morning, the supermarket buzzed with the sound of clattering carts, hurried footsteps, and the chatter of shoppers. Ethan moved down the aisles in casual jeans and a simple white shirt, the kind of outfit that made him almost unrecognizable compared to the sharply dressed CEO the press hounded daily. His basket overflowed with fresh fruits, bags of rice, and cartons of milk—essentials for the children's center he supported.
He was studying a pack of oranges when it happened.
Her cart hit him.
"Oh my God! I'm so sorry!"
Ethan turned, blinking in surprise at the woman before him. She wasn't like the polished socialites he usually saw at these stores. She wore a simple sundress, her hair tied back in a bun, her eyes wide and apologetic but sparkling with something… fierce.
"It's fine," he said, chuckling. "Happens to the best of us."
She laughed nervously, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I was just… these labels are ridiculous. Artificial flavors, additives—nothing's truly healthy anymore."
Ethan glanced into her cart. Colorful peppers, brown rice, oats. She cared about what she ate. "Organic's the way to go," he said, pointing to her selection. "Those peppers? Good choice."
Her smile bloomed, genuine and bright. "Thanks."
He extended his hand. "Ethan."
"Martha," she replied, her fingers slipping into his. The handshake was brief, but something lingered—a spark, subtle yet undeniable.
"So, Martha," he asked, trying to mask his sudden interest, "what brings you to a grocery store on a weekday morning?"
She arched a brow, teasing. "Same thing that brings everyone here—food."
Ethan laughed, charmed. "Fair enough. I'm actually picking up supplies for a volunteer project."
Her eyes widened. "You volunteer?"
He shrugged modestly. "Trying to do my part. It's rewarding."
Martha checked her watch suddenly, panic flashing across her face. "Oh no. I'm late! I have to go."
"Already?" His disappointment slipped through his smile.
She nodded, maneuvering her cart toward the checkout. "It was nice talking to you, Ethan."
He stood watching her until she disappeared into the crowd, a strange pull in his chest.
At the counter, he noticed her again—arguing lightly with the cashier over the bill.
"That'll be one hundred and fifty dollars," the cashier announced.
Before Martha could pull out her wallet, Ethan's voice cut in. "That's on me."
She turned, startled. "What? No—don't bother. Thank you."
He winked. "I insist."
But to his shock, she ignored him. She paid quickly, gathered her bags, and rushed out, leaving him standing there with his wallet still in hand.
Ethan blinked, then laughed softly to himself. "Who is this lady?"
For the first time in a long time, a woman had walked away without waiting for his charm, his money, his name. And strangely, it thrilled him.
---
The day wore on, but fate wasn't done with them yet.
Martha's car sputtered as she drove down a quiet street, coughing before dying completely at the roadside. She slammed the wheel in frustration. "Great. Just great."
She tried again. Nothing. With a sigh, she reached for her phone, ready to call a mechanic—when a sleek black car pulled up behind hers.
Her heart skipped as she recognized him. Ethan.
He stepped out, smiling, the sun catching in his eyes. "Everything alright?"
Martha stiffened. "Uh… yes, thanks."
"You're clearly having car trouble. I can give you a jump start."
She hesitated, suspicion flickering in her gaze. Rich men with kind smiles were often the most dangerous. "No thanks. I'll call a mechanic."
He raised his hands in surrender, still smiling. "If you say so."
A moment later, he was gone, his car gliding away while Martha stood watching, her heart inexplicably racing.
---
That night, in the glossy halls of her Brooklyn apartment, Martha sat before her camera, her ring light glowing. To her thousands of followers, she wasn't just Martha—she was "Martha the Changemaker", the voice of a generation tired of fakes, lies, and corporate greed.
"Hey Changemakers," she said brightly, her energy crackling. "Today we're talking about something that's been getting under my skin lately— "fake". Fake news, fake influencers, fake hair extensions. And guess what? Some of the biggest names out there are guilty."
Her voice sharpened as she clicked her laptop, pulling up the Silky Hair and Cosmetics website. Images of Sally Jones filled the screen.
"Exhibit A: Silky Hair extensions. Shiny, glossy, marketed as real human hair. But the truth? They're synthetic fibers. Overpriced lies."
Her words cut sharp, like a knife. Somewhere across town, Sally Jones hurled her phone against marble in a rage. But Martha didn't know that yet. She only knew the fire in her chest, the need to speak truth to power.
"Silky Hair, do the needful," she warned. "Or you're going down." we have lots of evidences.
Her eyes blazed as she ended the live stream. Somewhere in the city, enemies were already stirring. And in another penthouse, Ethan sat staring out at the night, unable to get Martha's smile out of his mind.
For the first time, he felt the stirrings of something dangerous. Something intoxicating. Something real.
And this was only the beginning.